Saintslayer
by Ariandir
Summary: A dark foe terrorises the realm of Bretonnia, and the people turn to the Lady as their last hope. Will the combined powers of sword, Slayer and spell be enough? A Gotrek and Felix fic.


Author's notes: Hey guys! Just a quick note to apologise for my bad French, and to express my annoyance that it was only _after_ I named my OC protagonist that I discovered there was already an established character named Repanse in the Bretonnian army; sod's law, and my field's Wood Elves - what can I say? Anyway, I'll endeavour to get more up soon, and in the meantime I hope this finds approval. Be well muffins! 

Disclaimer: Gotrek and Felix are forever William King's. The remaining dregs are mine... 

-- 

The injured knight fell before the shores of the lake. His armour and cloak bore smears of mud and gore, and the sword he carried in his right hand was splintered halfway along the blade. His bloodied face glistened with effort in the rainy light as he hauled himself to the water's edge. Above him, the overcast sky began to rumble hungrily, and the clouds to flicker with internal lightning. 

"Dame! Dame!" He cried out. His thick Mousillon accent was choked and hoarse, but it echoed across the water with unnatural volume. "Dame, vous me venez!" 

A quiet wind whispered through the bullrushes. The oak forest out of which the knight had come was thick and silent; but not long so. From somewhere deep within came the sound of a galloping horse, and the knight groaned. Frantically, he tugged himself closer to the hem of the water, and rasped out again: 

"Ma Dame! Vous me venez!" 

The galloping hoofs drew nearer, and still there was no answer. The knight bowed his head, resigning himself to die as the first tongue of lightning tore the sky. Rain started to scatter down like fallen beads. 

But beyond the shore, some way out over the lake, the mists began to disturb. A vague white form solidified from the vapour, becoming clearer and more tangible with every passing moment. First, it was the shape of a tall, glowing pillar; next like the pattern for child's cloth doll. Finally, the defined figure of a woman emerged from the mist, the water of the lake reaching just past the hem of her dress as she came to stand before the dying knight. 

Stooping, she gently placed her fingers beneath his chin and raised it. Fey and beautiful the man saw her as he looked up: her hair was long and flaxen, and her skin was pale like a waterlilly, as was her gown. She wore a thin golden circlet on her brow, and a girdle that was hung with fleur-de-lys and Grail pendants about her waist. Strangest of all, her eyes were a deep and ancient blue-green, with an age and wisdom that was out of place on one so youthful. 

"Thou callest out for the Lady, Sir Knight?" She asked in a low, smooth voice. "She hath answered: I am Repanse, Damoiselle du Lac." 

"Lady," The knight gasped. "These lands are troubled by darkness. The king sent me to seek aid." 

From within the forest came the twisted scream of a horse. 

"He comes!" The knight struggled for breath and his tone gained urgency. "The enemy that besets us is an Unholy Champion; a fallen Saint! Of great might and strength is he, and many knights have we lost in battle against him. 'Tis the belief of many that only the power of the Lady will defeat him now..." 

The fey woman's eyes darted up; the sound of hoofs was among the last furlong of trees now. Overhead the thunder rolled like drums, and the rain intensified fivefold. The knight strained to look up at the sky one last time, and then into the eyes of the Damsel. 

"Bless me, Lady." He whispered. 

Bending closer, Repanse held his face in her hands and kissed his bloody brow. Her tears fell and mingled with the rain on his cheeks. 

"Rest, Sir Knight. Thy duty is done." She intoned softly. 

The man's eyes closed, and slowly the knots of his grimace were eased, until he looked at peace. Laying him with his back on the earth, the Damsel tenderly placed his broken sword on his torso and folded his arms over his chest, smoothing his plastered hair back off his brow. 

At the edge of the forest, a massive shadow emerged from the darkness and hung just beneath the boughs of the oaks. The mount snorted two billows of piping steam from its nostrils and emitted a long, bestial groan. Its rider merely watched in silence. Looking up, Repanse stared straight at the shape and straightened to her full height. Then she spoke in a ringing voice: 

"Thou shalt not have this good man!" 

The mount tossed its head defiantly and grunted. Even as it did so, Repanse raised her hands, palms upturned: the waters lapping along the shore rose up and over the body of the knight, gradually working back and forth and painting it with silver until it was completely submerged. When the water retreated again, he had vanished. 

The shadowy beast reared, pawing at the ground uneasily and its rider started back, as though shocked. There was the sound of a blade being drawn from its sheath. 

"Begone!" Repanse cried, her voice mingling with a thunder clap. She rose out of the waves, water dripping from the hem of her dress and her pale bare feet. "The condemnation of the Lady is on thee, and so shall be until we meet again!" 

"Mistake not, Damoiselle du Lac." The voice that spoke from the shadows of the trees was like words and breath being sucked backwards through the mouth of a bottle. "We will." 

The savage wind of the thunderstorm drove the waters of the lake into a frenzy, crashing and slapping on the now muddy shores. It whistled and howled through the boughs of the oak forest, setting branches thrashing and groaning and leaves spinning like starling flocks. Thunder pulsed, rain lashed and another flash of lightening clove the miserable clouds; the ground from the shadows of the trees to the reed clumps was empty, and both entities had disappeared as though they had never been there at all. 

Miles away in a Couronne tavern, a man named Felix Jaeger woke with a start. 

-- 


End file.
